Coming Down ➢ Steve Rogers

eight

Chapter Eight;

"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?"

Delaney glanced up from her position in the backseat at Natasha's question. They'd been driving for some time; it had been mostly silent from the moment they'd piled into the car they'd chosen to steal and made the journey to New Jersey.

Delaney had been reading, her tattered copy of The Order of the Phoenix open in her lap. She'd read the book too many times to count over the years, however, she still loved it as much as the first time she'd opened it. The magic of Harry Potter's world continued to enthral her: she could see it becoming a treasured series in her later years.

She pursed her lips. Would Steve have been introduced to Harry Potter yet? Delaney tilted her head to the side. If he hadn't, when everything was resolved, she decided that she would introduce Steve Rogers to her favourite works of literature – and movies, too. A shiver of excitement passed down her spine; books had always been a passion of hers, and just being able to imagine sharing her passion with Steve made her smile.

"Nazi Germany," Steve responded. He glared at Natasha. "And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."

Natasha raised a single eyebrow and with deliberate show, removed both foot from the dash. Delaney rolled her eyes.

"All right, I have a question for you," Natasha said. She shifted position in her seat to get a better look at Steve. "Which you do not have to answer. I feel like, if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know -"

"What?"

"Was that your first kiss since 1945?"

Delaney spluttered at the sudden question. Her hand slipped and numerous pages flipped. Delaney cried out as she lost her place – it was one of her many pet peeves.

"Natasha!" she yelled. "You made me lose my page."

Natasha shrugged. "That's a story you've read a thousand times," she teased, a glint in her eyes. "This, however, is new – and is going to be interesting."

She ignored the way Delaney childishly poked her tongue out.

Steve chuckled. "Did it look that bad?"

"I didn't say -"

"Lane, was our kiss bad?"

Delaney froze. Natasha twisted in her seat, eyebrows raised in expectation. Delaney sent her friend a withering look and swallowing, trying to decide what would be the best way to respond.

Delaney recounted the kiss and couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

"No," she said, her cheeks bright red. She was deliberately ignoring Natasha's eyes, or her reflection in the mirror. "You're a good kisser. Very adequate."

Steve grinned at Natasha. "See?"

Natasha raised her hands. "I was just wondering how much practice you'd had!"

"Seriously, Nat." Delaney sighed. "Look, to put things into perspective – that was my first kiss. Ever."

Natasha's mouth dropped open. "You've had no practice, ever?" She sounded scandalised. She shook her head like a disappointed parent would. "Lane, I've neglected you."

"I don't need practice," Delaney muttered, leaning back in her seat. She'd never had the need to practice. Relationships tended to be hard to come by when you were kept basically under house arrest for nineteen years of your life.

"She doesn't," Steve added.

Delaney felt all the blood in her body rush up to her cheeks once more. "Steve, please." She hid her face in the pages of her book.

"Everybody needs practice," Natasha said pointedly. Delaney could tell the words were directed at her particularly.

"It was not my first kiss since 1945," Steve said. "I'm ninety five, I'm not dead."

"Nobody special, though?"

Delaney stilled. Her body tensed as she awaited Steve's answer to the point she was breathing only the shallowest of breaths.

"Not necessarily..." Steve mumbled – even Natasha had to lean forward to be sure what he was saying. "Besides, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience."

Natasha shrugged. "Well, that's all right. You just make something up."

"Like you, or Lane?"

"The truth is a matter of circumstance," Natasha said dismissively. "It's not all things to all people, all the time. Neither am I."

Steve frowned. "That's a tough way to live."

"It isn't easy..." Delaney piped up, quiet. Her voice was muffled by her book; she lowered it, held it gently in her lap, and stared straight ahead. "It's kept me alive, though. I know Natasha can say the same."

"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone, when you don't know who that someone really is," Steve pointed out.

"Who do you want me to be?" Natasha asked.

"How about a friend?"

"Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers."

Delaney leaned forward and rested both hands on Steve's shoulders. "Don't worry, Steve. I volunteer to be your friend," she said brightly.

He laughed. In the rear view mirror, Delaney could make out Steve's smile. "Thank you, Lane."

"And, Nat." Delaney rounded on her friend and pointed an accusatory finger her way. "What exactly do you call Clint and I?"

Natasha winked. "Clint is my friend. You, however, I need to reassess. You've been gone for two years; you could have changed to the point you're a stranger."

Delaney gasped. She placed both hands over her heart. "I thought we were forever, Natasha," she sniffed dramatically, and wiped a fake tear from her eye. "You hurt me."

"I apologise, honey. I'll give you my re-evaluation in two years."

"Steve will stay my side until you do." Delaney did the best she could to rest her head on Steve's shoulder from her position in the backseat.

"Always," Steve promised.

"See! Steve's my true friend here."

Natasha rolled her eyes. Delaney tried to keep a poker face up, but one look into Natasha's eyes sent her into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Then Steve was laughing, and Natasha snorted until they were all laughing at their ridiculousness, and Delaney was wiping actual tears of mirth from her eyes.